


Sounding Off

by Saeva



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftercare, Dildos, Dom Harry Potter, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Harry Potter is a Good Boyfriend, M/M, Nipple Play, Predicament Bondage, Rope Bondage, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sounding, Sub Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22751182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saeva/pseuds/Saeva
Summary: Harry and Draco have a quiet, kinky night in. Sounding fic.Written for the HP_Kinkfest 2020 prompt by shealwaysreads.Beta'ed byGryphonfeather.The chair.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 16
Kudos: 388
Collections: HP Kinkfest 2020





	Sounding Off

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shealwaysreads (onereader)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onereader/gifts).



He knows his lover doesn’t understand it but Harry enjoys the _watching_ the most. If he could see himself like this, the way that makes Harry’s heartbeat quicken and half his blood pump to his cock, then maybe Draco would understand better. 

“Comfortable?” Harry taunts quietly. 

Draco’s teeth grit. Then, “You know I’m bloody well not, Potter.” Harry taps his jaw. Not a slap but sharp enough to get his point across, watching the other man suck in a breath and nod, slowly. “Harry.” 

Not ‘sir’, not yet, but not very far from it either. 

“Your thighs are shaking,” he says with false sympathy. “We’ve barely started.” 

They _already_ shake, tied over the legs of a high-backed antique monstrosity that Draco insisted come with him when he moved in. He put it in the ‘study’ so that’s where they are now, surrounded by witchlight, books, and the warmth of the fireplace (Floo _disabled_ ) in the corner. 

Draco’s heels dig into the velvet covered sides of the chair, desperately bracing, and his arms have started to slowly give out. He’s trying to hold himself up by the ropes more than hang in the leather cuffs curved around the back of the chair. Harry can’t blame him. If his lover lets himself go, gives into the weariness, lets his clenching muscles, glistening with sweat in the firelight, release, then he’ll move _down_. 

The tip of the toy already inside of him, planted to the seat upholstery, has plenty of lube. The whole toy does. But Harry hasn’t done a spell or a touch to stretch Draco at all. Gravity, slowly, inevitably, will do that. 

Draco’s mouth sets in a hard line, his stubbornness winning over his pragmatism yet again. He could ask for a spell. Or a reprieve. Instead he keeps his mouth a firm, haughty line and takes things the hard way. 

Harry gives himself another moment to watch this. He’d used a dark rope this time, the same deep grey as the chair, and the contrast of Draco’s fair skin, absolutely shining now, against the matte upholstery and the thin, looped ropes takes his breath away. The way Draco slips the slightest bit and gasps, biting his lip to keep from calling out, makes Harry stroke himself a few times in his trousers. 

Then he steps forward, summoning a small tray to him as he pulls out the small, round table that usually goes next to the chair. He slides the table slightly further then, so that it’s in Draco’s easy line of sight. With a swish Harry sanitises his hands and uncovers the table, letting his lover get his first good look at the plans for tonight. 

Draco whines, low in his throat, and loses ground, groaning as the toy presses into him. 

“Couldn’t wait to get some cock in you, baby?” Harry leans forward to kiss him, fiercely, claiming that mouth before Draco can say something stupid and get himself in trouble. 

“Are you trying to kill me?” Draco’s voice cracks as Harry pulls away.

“No.” _Only break you a little._ Because eventually Draco will submit, giving into the pleasure, giving into Harry’s will, and then let himself be petted and coddled, no longer too full of pride to allow the vulnerability. “Alright, ring first.” 

“It’s not needed,” Draco tries. He always tries. 

Harry tsks, as usual. “You say that. Then you’ll be coming before I want you to and whimpering about being oversensitive.” Because he won’t stop unless Draco asks him to. That’s happened before, a couple of times - usually, however, Draco whimpers and begs but never speaks the words. “I’m not stopping if you come early on.” 

Draco’s skin flushes, already fully pink in his cheeks and beneath the trail of hair up from his groin as he says, “Alright.” 

_Oh_. It’s going to be a soft night then. Harry smiles approvingly, spelling a heavy, physical ring around the base of Draco’s cock and around his balls. The weight reminds him. 

“That’s my good boy,” Harry tells him, kissing him gently, the barest touches of lips to lips. “You’re going to be so good for me tonight.” 

The other man sucks in a breath, his stomach going concave as he tenses. Then the release and his arms go lax in the bonds. Checking the cuffs, which hang around mid-back on the other side of the chair, the sticking spell keeping them flush against the backing, Harry reassures himself of circulation and returns to kneeling between the chair and the table. 

“Do you want to ease into this tonight, Draco?” he asks seriously, grabbing the other man’s chin to force eye contact - Draco’s silver-blue eyes slide away. 

For a long moment the thin lips purse and twist and get bitten, but then a soft, “Yes.” 

“Good. Thank you for telling me what you want.” His chest puffs up a little bit in pleasure, pride assuaged, and Harry strokes his hair. The warmth of wandless magic heats along his palm, a gesture coats it with the slick set at the foot of the chair, and Harry strokes his lover’s cock slowly, petting it through to full hardness. 

He loves this too. Watching Draco squirm and shake, rocking in his bonds as he tries so desperately to get more friction. He’s loosening. His muscles go laxer and he slides further down on the toy with a whimper when he rocks back. For a stretch of minutes Harry simply wanks him, slow and controlled, nipping a line of kisses over Draco’s shoulder. When his head dips down and he takes one rosy nipple between his teeth for a soft bite Draco cries out, arching. 

Harry rewards that with a few harder, faster strokes, and then retreats. 

“Argh!” That makes him laugh a little and he kisses Draco on the forehead playfully. 

“Poor, frustrated luv.” 

“Are you going to get to the point any time soon?” Draco growls out. 

“Not if you’re taking that tone with me.” 

His eyes roll heavenward. “Harry!” 

“Alright, alright. Say ‘please’.” 

“Please!” 

And Harry relents, picking up the first, solid sound. Both the thinnest and the least intense because of the smooth sides all the way down, it’ll prepare the way. Another spell, more lube, now coating the rod, and he puts the tip to the edge of Draco’s cock. It jerks in his hand, the foreskin fully back in readiness, and he pinches the tip slightly before the first, slow insertion. 

As always, Draco goes still, unbreathing and unmoving as the first three or four millimeters sinks in. Then he gasps in, remembering the need for air, and Harry holds the metal there for a few careful breaths. Then he presses in, flicking his eyes between watching the metal disappear along the hard shaft and Draco’s teeth dig into his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. 

He asked, once, what it felt like for the blond. Draco had asked him back what fucking felt like to him: the press in, the knowledge that your hole would be filled, the sensation of it being stretched around an unforgiving force. ‘Like that, but about a hundred times more sensitive and more terrifying because it’s your dick, wanker.’ Harry had shuddered because the vulnerable feeling of a cock entering you, of being pinned down and helpless, before his lover found his prostate and the physical sensations got good enough he could enjoy himself, was the part Harry hated about bottoming. 

But, then, Draco enjoyed poking people, even knowing they were more than willing to use their wands or fists, and seeing what might happen. Because he enjoyed the thrill of walking into a situation not knowing what might happen or if he’d be able to handle it (immune now to any sense of danger less overwhelming than fucking Voldemort). And Harry, for as much as he’d once run into danger every bloody season like clockwork, did it because he needed to survive. He had flying, the control of flying, for his thrills. 

And that was why Draco was tied to that chair, at his lover’s total mercy, and Harry was the one granting and denying mercy as he saw fit. 

“Good, luv?” 

Draco whimpers, nodding. “More.” When he doesn’t get it, he says, more forcefully, “Harry, more!” A pout. “Harry, more please.” 

The brunet smiles. “I’m going to let go.” Gravity does its job, the heavy metal, weighted in the ball at the very end, sinking further into Draco’s shaft before he clenches. It pushes out slightly but with a little coaxing he begins to relax again and the rod presses in. 

“Oh, Morgana, fuck. Harry!” Clench -- press out. Release -- push in. Harry simply watches the gentle fucking motion, his hands reaching up to tease at the pretty pink nipples. Tight buds on large, rose areolas so much darker than the skin around it. He brushes a few times, teasingly, and then grips hard, pinching until Draco pants, rocking in his bonds. The sound rocks in and out as his muscles contract, and he whines low and thick when Harry mercifully releases him. 

When Harry checks underneath, Draco’s now more than halfway impaled on the thick fake shaft. With an amused huff, he grips the other man’s hips and pushes down, watching the whine turn to a wail as the shaft rubs roughly over Draco’s prostate. 

“HarryHarryHarry.” Draco’s pleasure nearly drives the sound out. 

That won’t do and with a soft smile Harry presses it in again. “Ready for the next one, luv?” 

“Mmhmm.” The blond tries to rally, to breathe carefully, as the sound is pulled from him in a smooth motion. Any semblance of that flees with a cry as a spurt of precum ends up on Harry’s pink lips the moment before he bobs his head down, curling his tongue around the shaft as it jerks in his mouth. As his lover jerks against the ropes. “Oh, Merlin. Fuck, fuck. Iwannacome!” 

Satisfied, he pulls off after another gentle suck, and contemplates the next instrument. “Later. Hmm, I’m going to make this larger.” 

This he wants carefully uniform and, unlike the lube spell, he doesn’t have enough wandless practice to trust it, so he searches up his wand. The beads of the second sound swell, enlarging until they’re twice the original size. It’s still only a reasonable 7mm at the widest. His lover’s taken nearly quite a bit larger before in bratty moments, enjoying the push of limits.

More sanitation, more lube, and his grip goes firm as he pushes the metal in, pausing for a breath as each new bead disappears, but never stopping. By the time it bottoms out Draco sags in his ropes, moaning quietly as his hips fuck up into Harry’s hand. 

“Can you take more of the shaft for me?” After a moment Draco sniffles a little and nods, his muscles loosening as he sinks closer to the seat of the chair. 

“Oh, fuck. That’s wide. I can’t -- I’m so full. It’s too much.” 

“Shh, shh, let yourself adjust, luv. You can do it. You’re so good for me and this will feel really amazing soon. I know it’s a bit much --” 

“You’d never let me,” Draco starts to snarl before biting back the words. “Don’t tell me what it is. You can barely tolerate being fucked.” 

Normally that sort of tone would be a problem but, for now, the dominant lets himself ignore it. He knows he’s not willing to give this… much of himself to Draco. Not willing to be that vulnerable, even with his magic at his fingertips, even though he loves this man and trusts him, so Harry keeps his mouth shut. It’s a fair critique. 

But when the tension passes, he quips, “I give amazing blowjobs though.” 

After a moment that gets a snort. “Like you were bloody born for it. Okay, okay.” A long breath gets blown out and Draco closes his eyes. “I’m ready.” 

“I’m going to fuck you with this.” 

At the first slow drag of the sound coming out, each bead’s shape causing the movement to wobble a little, Draco already can’t help panting. A quiet tremble goes through all his muscles, constant, ebbing and flowing with each thrust, rhythmic evidence that he’s being fucked to within an inch of his life. All Harry moves is the sound. All he touches is his hand wrapping around the back of Draco’s neck, leaning forward so he can watch the complicated pleasure his lover feels. 

Draco seems almost cleaved open each time the metal slides all the way in, stopping, and bleeding off pleasure when the pull out starts all over again. The ring keeps him from coming but he works himself up, closer to release with each panting breath. Close enough Harry has to start fighting the contractions of Draco’s shaft to keep the rhythm steady. 

Finally, as the cries reach a new breathy desperation, he pulls the sound all the way out. 

Draco’s response is immediate and mournful, a soft, “No,” and a shaky neediness. “Please, Harry, please, bring it back. Please.” 

“Shh, shh, next one, luv.” 

Draco stills, like he forgot there was a third one, the largest yet and varied enough to drive the man mad. “Oh.”

With a wand slash Harry double checks that the protective spell on the final sound remains intact. Magic is strange and wonderful but maturity’s taught him the value of checking the details. This last toy, as much as Draco loves it, can cause injury pretty easily. 

Then, another spell and Draco’s shaft goes limp, soft and malleable in Harry’s hands, even though experimentation with this led to Draco declaring the pleasure of touch after the spell didn’t feel any different. There were harsher, painful spells to stop erections, punishment spells, but this one simply prepared the way. 

The sound goes in without any resistance, the first millimeters curved but utterly smooth, and then midway up the corkscrew twist of the metal rubs him from the inside. Draco chokes out a cry and tries to fuck it, the ropes digging pure white lines in his skin reddened with arousal. 

“All the way now.” Foreplay over, Harry remains focused on his task, removing the cock ring with the touch of his hand. Draco’s wail at the sudden rush of pleasure, the closeness of release, echoes off the high ceiling. 

The sound keeps going. He coats it with more lube and keeps going until, yes, _there_. The tension in Draco’s muscles shifts, on the edge of explosion, and for a long moment Harry teases. Then he shifts the pressure, pushing directly on, and Draco struggles. 

The binds won’t let him fight hard enough to hurt himself so Harry allows it. He rocks his hand slowly, doing careful strokes over his lover’s prostate from one side with the sound even as he knows the fake shaft forces constant pressure on the other. 

“Harry!” Draco chokes out. It sounds like a sob and Harry rips the binding holding his hands off with a lash of wild magic, allowing his lover to reach around and touch the way he wants to. Nimble fingers sink into messy black hair and Draco leans forward, unable to move below the waist, wanting to gain more skin contact everywhere else. 

He manages to half-drape his shoulders over Harry’s head, hands tightening as the inevitable interior explosion builds. This is what Draco loves about sounding. The first wave builds in shakes and the clenching of hands. By the time the orgasm crests, punching through the slight blond’s body until he nearly screams, Harry’s braced for the collapse. 

It comes in an instant. He leaves the sound, tossing half a dozen spells at his lover to remove all other stimulation -- the ropes and fake cock foremost -- before easing Draco down into sitting. His legs have to be manually pressed together, Harry’s obedient, sweet boy holding to his orders. 

Then and only then does Harry slowly, carefully, remove the sound, watching the gulps and whimpers of overloaded sensation rock through the currently defenceless man. 

“I was good?” Draco asks softly as he starts to come back to himself. 

Harry smiles and kisses the tears off his face. “I couldn’t ask for better. You’re _always_ good for me in the end.” 

It doesn’t matter how many times he tells the other man this. The crippling insecurity -- the feelings of never living up to the Malfoy name, to the magical legacy, the constant failures against a seemingly effortless Harry in school -- always comes after scenes like this. A remnant of letting himself be vulnerable, maybe. 

But his husband’s more than happy to keep reassuring him he’s done well. Harry understands feeling inadequate well enough and Draco _deserves_ the praise he’s given here. He always gives Harry everything he can. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, luv, and tucked in bed.” 

Spells are needed, in the end, for him to carry him all the way to the bath, but they make it. Harry pulls hot water from the tap and settles his husband in the deep basin. 

“Sandalwood or orange, do you think?” 

Draco frowns. Choices remain hard for a while, usually, but he rallies with, “Sandalwood. This was… good. Thank you.” 

Harry hums. They’d talk, really talk, later, after Draco rested. For now he got the other man in the bath before the shakes started, the heat helping with the aftershocks of something so intense. Sometimes the blond goes weepy or babbles some, sometimes he goes completely quiet, but Harry’s here to take care of his… of Draco.

Draco mightn’t understand what Harry gets out of watching but he knows Harry enjoys it. But this is Harry’s secret. That as good as the sex is it is this -- taking care of Draco unreservedly, with no pretense or argument about independence -- makes up his favourite part. Breaking down his love one scene at a time is a project that’s been long in the making but the high from it... There’s nothing else like this. 

“You’re so good for me, Draco,” he praises and Draco rubs his cheek over Harry’s hand gently before Harry pets the soft blond locks. “You obeyed so well.” 

Draco smiles tiredly. “Harry… love you.” 

“I love you, too.” Harry kisses that tired smile. “Rest now, luv.”


End file.
